A Deadly Decision
by ScribeOfIvanhoe
Summary: In Chapter 39 of Ivanhoe, Bois-Guilbert visits Rebecca in her cell, trying to convince her to flee with him rather than risk burning at the stake. "Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival." What if Rebecca's response was slightly different, and Death took her at her word? Would it change the fate of Rebecca and Brian?
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is just a one-shot I've had in my head for over a year now. I've recently started working on my other story, Lady of Bordeaux, again, but I've always wanted to write something about Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert. Of course, the obvious problem of getting them together when Brian is ultimately a selfish character and when they are both so stubborn always stood in my way. So of course, I decided to intervene with an absolutely ridiculous encounter to change everything. This is the first part of a four part one shot.

 _"Better is death than a bitter life: and everlasting rest, than continual sickness." - Ecclesiastes 30:17_

When Brian de Bois-Guilbert first entered her chamber, his face was pale and haggard as death. If it were not for his purposeful movements as he shut the door and turned to face her she might have fancied him a corpse – but no, the piercing gaze of his eyes would have soon disproved such a thought. He stood with a rigid tension in his posture that was not fear or anger but rather a burning energy. He contained it, controlled it, like a fire hidden under the coals; it did not rage or flicker, but the heat was felt all the same.

Rebecca retreated into a corner, though it was more out of habit than out of necessity. She instinctively knew that she could not fear him tonight, not in the way she had. He was too intelligent to force unwanted advances on her when Beaumanoir's guards were so close by. Moreover, she believed that he no longer desired to make any. He was a proud man and did not bear rejection well; today, he had learned that his honor and worldly ambitions were at stake if she was not sentenced to death. She did not believe his love for her was so true that he would sacrifice his long-held desires merely to save her.

Her comparison of his face to a corpse was not merely incidental. She had been thinking, deeply, about death since the end of the trial earlier that day. The subject was on the Templar's mind as well, for after arguing vainly with her against his responsibility for bringing the horrid fate upon her, he began expounding upon all the pains and unpleasantries she was likely to undergo, for what purpose she knew not. She could only suppose that, faced with a dilemma in which he was forced to give up his pursuit of her, he had returned only for revenge, to increase the misery of one who had injured his pride by her determined refusal. But then he had proven that assumption wrong. In that impetuous, passionate manner of his, he threw himself at her feet and offered to sacrifice ambition and risk the dishonor of his name… if only she would become his lover.

Though the offer surprised her in that it was so unexpected, it did nothing to weaken her resolution. He only proved the shallowness of his love by such a proposal. A true knight, she told herself, a knight like Ivanhoe, would have saved her at no cost. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, though powerful and brave and fearless, was also very selfish. He only loved her as long as it benefited himself, and he would only save her if she gave herself as payment. If Brian thought his passionate offer would soften her heart, it achieved nothing but the opposite. She felt used and insulted, as though she were one of the crates of merchandise her father profited by rather than a human being of flesh and blood, mind and soul. Therefore, instead of giving the slightest consideration to his offer, she instantly rebuked him and suggested that he request the aid of Prince John to put an end to the Templar's proceedings.

It was then that he said the words, the ones that would change everything, though neither of them knew it at the time. He grasped the hem of her robe as though by possessing the bit of cloth he could somehow take hold of her heart, and his eyes burned up at her. "Bethink thee, were I a fiend," he said, and his voice sounded strange and desperate, and it had lost its usual violence, "Were I a demon, yet death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival."

"Sir Knight," Rebecca said after a short pause in which she struggled to find the words to express her unshakeable resolve without risking his anger, but failed. Instead, she raised up a defense the way she knew best. "Sir Knight, it is not fiends and demons that are most to be feared – for they are set in their evil – but man himself, who, having the power to do right, instead follows the path of sin."

"Rebecca," Bois-Guilbert, with a sigh of impatience as though she were a stubborn child, "The world is not a court of law in which the implications of every word and distinction must be so argued upon. Think upon death, who is a demon too real to tame through vague philosophizing."

"No, Sir Knight, this is no court of earthly law before which we stand, but one of the eternal, and thus all the more demanding. And indeed, death is no demon but an angel of mercy! If he is your rival, so be it. I choose him!"

The lightning of Zeus himself flashed not brighter than Brian's eyes as he sprung to his feet.

"Obstinate girl–"

But he said no more, as a sound that echoed about the cell stopped him short. Someone was knocking at the door. Brian froze with a look in his eyes like that of a marble Laocoön, fully aware that if it was not Malvoisin outside the cell, he would have no escape from the inevitable. Rebecca looked from him to the door, from which the sound repeated. She thought she would be relieved at any interruption, regardless of who caused it, but a sudden sense of anxiety well up within her. After a long moment of breathless silence, the hinges creaked, and the door swept slowly open.

"Malvoisin? Is it you?" Bois-Guilbert addressed the hooded figure that stood in the doorway. It remained silent. "Speak, man!"

"Noble sir," Rebecca said, "No matter your purposes in coming here, you have intervened in an ill-fated conversation, and so I count you as a friend."

The shadows under the hood turned slowly toward her, and it looked, or seemed to look, with measured gaze over the girl.

"No, Rebecca," he said at last in a deep, rumbling voice, "No friend am I but something closer still." He entered the room and shut the door, keeping his hidden gaze on the confused Rebecca. "And in three days time I shall claim you as my willing wife."

"What foolishness is this?" Brian scoffed. "Who are you?"

"What are you talking about?" Rebecca said at the same time.

The figure ignored the Templar, who had taken a menacing step forward. "Do you not remember? I am this pitiful man's rival for your hand. You chose me." He lifted a hand and threw back his hood.

Rebecca gasped.

His face was thin and bloodless, the skin clinging to his skull like wet paper. Dry, open sores disfigured his nose and mouth. His eyes were empty abysses.

"Yes, dear Rebecca, I am Death, your angel of mercy, your rescuer from the brutish embraces of this fool."

His long arm stretched outward, but Brian reacted immediately. He threw himself in front of the pale girl, though he himself was drained of color.

"You will not touch her!" He barked, a hand at his hilt.

Death tilted his head back and let out a horrible laugh. It sounded like a death rattle. "Fool, you have no say in the matter. My lady has chosen, and her wish is my command."

Rebecca stepped back, distancing herself from both of them.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, "Why are you here tonight, if I am not sentenced to die for three days yet?"

The cavernous eyes studied her, and Death laughed again. "Perhaps I wanted to meet the woman who seemed so desperate to die. Few come to me willingly. But what is this, my dear? You seem less eager for my presence than before. You are trembling. Are you having second thoughts? Do you fear this face so much?" He grinned hideously, revealing rows of rotting teeth.

"No!" she choked. She cleared her throat and said more firmly, "No, I do not fear you!" The color rushed back into her face, and her eyes flashed in the way that had always awakened Brian's frustration and admiration. "I will embrace even death over humiliation and dishonor!"

"Is that so?" Death said, his broken mouth twisting into a hideous parody of a smile. He paused, and - just as the Templar guessed his intentions - he strode toward Rebecca. Brian would have stepped between the two again, but he found himself mysteriously bound in place, unable to move or make a sound. Rebecca backed away, but in a flash he had seized her hand in his frozen fingers.

"Do not touch me!" she cried, growing pale again. "I will call the guards!"

Death pulled her relentlessly toward him until his arms were holding her completely captive. His face was inches above hers.

"Tsk tsk, how fickle my bride is! She wavers between accepting and rejecting me. But it is useless to call the guards, my dear." He subtly shifted his hold, so that one arm held her still against him, while the other claimed her ebony locks. "Only you and your dog of a suitor can see me, for both of you are in danger of soon leaving this life. Moreover, my helpful accomplice Time is holding all still outside of this tiny cell, and no one will hear your cry."

Rebecca strained to escape, but it was futile. Her usual defiance and strength seemed to be of no use now. In all their arguments, Brian had never touched her except to take her from the flaming castle of Torquilstone; but Death had no qualms about using his superior strength to his advantage. Any words she could have raised as a shield fled her mind. Inexplicably, her eyes sought Brian. Death saw this, and bared his rotting teeth.

"No, my beautiful Rebecca, I will not allow you to reconsider your choice! Now that I have you so close, I will not let such a prize slip away…" Tightening his grip in her hair, he brought his repulsive lips to meet her own. It was but a touch, but instantly the coldness of ice spread through Rebecca, seizing her lungs and heart.

When he released her, she fell to her knees.

"Rebecca!" cried Brian, finding himself freed from his invisible chains. He rushed to stand before Rebecca, glancing over her protectively. Her face was white, and as he watched, a dark mark appeared on her forehead, twisting and growing into strange characters of an unknown language. He turned on Death in a rage.

"Fight me, dog!" he hissed.

"Ha! Idiot of a Templar, no one who fights me can win!"

Disregarding this warning, Bois-Guilbert drew his sword and lunged toward the other, but Death moved forward with inhuman speed, blocking the blow with such violence that the sword flew across the room.

"See? You cannot-"

Brian swung a fist toward Death's mocking face. But the course of the punch curved, and instead of his intended target, Brian delivered a powerful blow to his own jaw.

"- fight me," finished the other with a smirk.

The knight's confusion and humiliation fueled his rage, and he charged toward his opponent, intending to seize his throat, but he found his hands gripped around his own neck instead. Rebecca watched in horror from her place on the floor, Death with amusement from his own closer viewpoint. As Brian's mad fury grew and he struggled more and more to reach out and inflict harm upon Death, his strength was directed more and more to the injury of himself. The veins stood out on his forehead, neck, and arms, and his face was a deep shade of red, but he could not bring himself to give in. As he kept his eyes locked with bitter hatred on the corpse-like face of Death, his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor.

Shaking still from her own encounter with the dangerous visitor, Rebecca forced herself out of her daze and moved her weak body across the floor. Her forehead burned where the mark had appeared.

"Sir Knight, stop!" She cried. "You are killing yourself!"


	2. Chapter 2

"The pangs of death have surrounded me: the floods of Belial have made me afraid." - 2 Samuel 22:5

* * *

When Brian did not respond, Rebecca hesitated for a single moment. He was her enemy, but she was by nature and training a healer. If she sat idly by, he would die. Instinct rather than conscious thought forced her forward, and she grabbed his arm. She could not pry his fingers from his neck. Bending over him, she moved her face into his line of sight.

"Bois-Guilbert! You will not conquer him this way! Your anger will only destroy you!" His eyes met hers, and a battle raged within him, reason against pride. For a moment, she could not tell which would win, but then he saw the pleading in her eyes. His grip weakened, ever so slightly, but it was enough - Rebecca seized his hands and tore them from his throat.

Like most of the men Rebecca had known, Brian de Bois-Guilbert focused on but one thing at a time, as he did now. Thinking only of protecting Rebecca from such a powerful threat (and, perhaps, of his own wounded pride), he did not consider that this was the first time she had willingly touched him, or that she saved his life. Between his gasps for breath, the Templar managed to spew a hundred insults on his enemy.

"You white-livered coward! Craven dog! You hide behind trickery rather than facing me like a man!"

"I am no mere man," hissed Death, stalking forward, "and I do not waste my efforts to win ridiculous arguments. You accuse me of cowardice? Templar, _you_ are the coward. _You_ refuse to overcome your fear."

"I do not fear you!" Brian met Death halfway, staring him boldly in the face.

"No," said the other, staring calmly back. He tilted his head, and added, "It is not _I_ whom you fear."

For a moment, Brian's glare faltered and fell before the other's cool gaze. Then he forced it back up and scornfully asked, "And what is it _you_ say I fear?"

"If you cannot admit it to yourself, _I_ won't say it." Death shrugged.

Rebecca interrupted their staredown, picking herself up from the floor and facing the spectre.

"Sir, when I chose death over disgrace, I was not asking for this!" She was well acquainted with death; it had taken her mother, her teacher Miriam, and many of the patients she had tried to save. It was hideous, horrible, violent. But it had never been like this. "I will die for my honor, but I will not die for _you._ "

Death sneered. "There's nothing you can do now, girl. You have already chosen me over your would-be lover."

" _I choose neither of you!_ " Rebecca yelled.

"That is impossible!" hissed the specter. "You chose me! You are mine, Rebecca. Mine!" His voice morphed into a roar as his eye sockets stretched out impossibly, encompassing half of his face in blackness. His body stretched as well, becoming inhumanly tall. His mouth was salivating like a hungry dog. Rebecca screamed and fell back against the wall, clutching the mark. Icy pangs shot through her head. With foggy sight she watched Death approach. His skeletal hand touched her forehead. Her vision burst into a million colors.

As she slumped against the stone wall, she was both there and not there, caught up in a vivid trance. She was clinging to the railing of a ship in a raging storm. The rain drenched her to the bone. Her father stood a couple feet away, and she called out to him.

"It's not worth it, father! The ship is too heavy!" He tore his gaze from the billowing waves and focused desperate eyes on her.

"B-but - the silks! Rebecca, the silver and gold!" He pulled at his hair, caught up in the same struggle between avarice and fear that always caused them both so much pain. "We can't lose them…"

"We must throw them overboard, or else we'll die!" The words of reason hardly had left her mouth before she gasped; for she saw a figure she both recognized and yet knew didn't belong. Death stood behind her father, clasping the old man's shoulders with bony fingers. Isaac could not see him, but his eyes widened with a mad idea.

"Rebecca! We can save the merchandise!" He struggled toward her along the slippery deck. "My daughter, we must sacrifice ourselves!"

"But, Father, you can't mean -"

"Yes, the myrrh, the gold - it will be safe!" Isaac seized her, feebly attempting to push her over the railing. Death appeared behind him, and his iron strength achieved what her father could not. The cold waves pulled her downward.

Her vision swam, and she resurfaced, gasping. Ivanhoe's bed now lay before her. She was in his sick room at Torquilstone again.

"Oh, Rebecca," he rasped, "When will I heal? When will I be well? I must fight, I must join the battle! There is honor to be won, and my father and Rowena are in danger. Maiden, you must heal me!" She could not answer; for she took one look at his white face and dull eyes and knew that he would never heal again. And Death slid out from the bed curtain, sneering down at the injured knight. Ivanhoe read his fate in her eyes.

"No, no! I cannot die here, lying worthlessly in bed! I must fight! Maiden, you will never understand chivalry. Get me a sword!" He tried to leap out of bed, but faltered and fell to the floor, tangled pitifully in the bedclothes. "Please, Rebecca!" He cried, and grasped her hands with his own stiffening ones. Death came slowly around the bed, wrapping his fingers around Ivanhoe's neck. Rebecca closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

"Rebecca, my honor!"

The hands grasping hers were warmer, stronger. She opened her eyes, and not Ivanhoe but Bois-Guilbert held her hands in his own. Her heart skipped a beat at the flames in his eyes. They stood on the beach of the ocean, and he knelt down in the warm, white sand, pressing her fingers to his lips. Then he moved his hands to her stomach, swollen with child, splaying out his fingers and resting his head against it. She smiled down at him. But then he looked up, and the ice pierced her heart. His eyes had filled with hatred.

"I gave up my ambition for you, wench," he snarled, "my honor, my dreams are all lost because of you! I will die defamed, wretched, and hated. And what have I gained in return? The meager affections of a Jewish girl! This for my dreams of glory!" He leapt up and lifted his hand as though to strike her. She shrunk back, but not from fear of physical violence. His eyes had become those of Death's - _he_ had transformed into Death. It did not just destroy his body: it took over his soul.

"Brian," she found herself begging, searching his face for a sign of hope, "What about your vows to me? You said you loved me!"

He spoke with the voice of Death, as he swept over her a look of utter scorn. "I have no love for you. I never did."

She fell to the ground, tears streaming down her face. He had used her for his own pleasure, and when she ceased to interest him, he discarded her. She was just his plaything, something he had bartered for, enjoyed, and eventually destroyed. Curling up into a fetal position, she began to sob.

" _Rebecca! Answer me!"_

She started, glancing about the room disorientedly. The room appeared flipped on its side until she realized she was laying on the floor. As far as she could tell, she was back in the prison cell. Death stood a couple feet away, and he had returned to a normal height, but his eyes remained ravenous. She was distracted from staring at him by a sensation on her hands, and realized suddenly that Brian knelt right beside her. He was chafing her hands and alternately cursing and calling out to her.

"Please, say that you are alright!"

She could only imagine what she had done during the vision to awaken such concern in the cool-headed Templar. It was a strange contradiction of his nature that he could be so calm in the midst of battle or a burning castle and yet so passionate when it came to her. Pushing this thought away as just another enigma about him, she struggled to sit up. Her arms gave way beneath her, but he caught her, propping her form against the wall. She shrank away from his touch, the words he'd spoken in her vision echoing in her head. Death noticed her reaction.

"See, Templar, how she is repulsed by you," he taunted, "just as she always has been. You have no chance - does he, Rebecca? I am your only choice. You can see that now, can't you?"

"No," she gasped, struggling to clear her head, "My father, he will find someone-"

"Your father? That greedy money-lender? Even now, he is conflicted between his riches and you. Should he secure his funds and flee the country before Beaumanoir's anger is turned upon him, or risk his life to find a knight willing to fight for a friendless Jewess?"

"He will find one," she protested. A new hope lit up her eyes. "And Ivanhoe-"

"The knight you last saw trapped in a burning castle!"

"-If my father finds him, he will fight for me!"

"He could be dead! And if not, his wounds are yet unhealed." As they argued, Death approached slowly, with steps as measured and unrelenting as the doom hanging over her head. "He will not save you. Look around you, Rebecca," he said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arms, "You have no friend but me." Rebecca shook her head. Her father, and Ivanhoe… she had tried to repress her fears for them, but the vision had brought them to the surface of her mind once more. The scenes replayed in her head, and she stood mutely, unable to answer her tormentor.

"You are wrong!" Brian's words rang out in the silence like a battle cry. He glared at his rival, then looked earnestly at Rebecca. "I would be a friend to you, maiden. You cannot choose this monster. He has already done you harm." He moved his hand as though to touch her forehead, but she flinched. He grimaced, fisted his hand, and brought it back to his side. "As you said, he is not what you thought he was. But my offer is the same as it ever was. You can leave all this behind, and I will be your faithful protector."

" _I have no love for you. I never did."_

"And for how long would that last, Sir Knight?" Rebecca said, turning weakly away.

"Not long at all," Death cut in. "You know those visions I gave you were not mere fantasies, or they would not have rung so true. You have always known them, Rebecca, in your deepest fears."

"Rebecca," said Bois-Guilbert, drawing her attention back to him, "Do not heed his words. He seeks only to confuse you. Listen to me. Will you trust a fiend who desires your life or the man who loves you?"

Death scoffed. Rebecca sighed and leaned back against the wall, searching her heart. The heaviness of all her unspoken thoughts weighed upon her, and she was weary. Too weary to deal with this. Too weary to find the right answers. Her heart was an indecipherable mass of emotions, dammed up and held inside for so long that she feared they'd never escape.

She could not find what she was looking for, and so she replied with a question. And because she had seen the vision, because she thought she knew Brian, she believed she knew the answer. She asked it anyway, if only to hear the answer spoken out loud.

"Sir Knight, _do_ you love me?"

It was Brian's turn to stare. "Of course."

"He loves no one, Rebecca." Death stiffly interjected. Rebecca ignored him, focusing on Brian, daring him to face the truth.

"Brian de Bois-Guilbert, do you love me?"

"You know I do!" He replied. "I have offered everything to you. I have risked death and dishonor to call you mine. Is that not proof enough? Or do you require still more?"

She was quiet, but he read an answer in her averted eyes. His eyes hardened.

"Willful girl! Words, deeds will not convince you; you allow me no other means." He seized her hand, ignoring her frightened cry, and held it to his chest. "Let this be proof, if nothing else!"

His black eyes burned into her own, and she felt his breath on her face, and then everything became a blur as his lips met hers.

 _A/N: Thanks to karena23 for reviewing this, thus inspiring me to post this update! Also, fun fact: I wasn't actually planning on having Brian kiss Rebecca, but I guess he had other ideas, because it just happened!_


	3. Chapter 3

" _Before man is life and death, good and evil; that which he shall choose shall be given him." - Ecclesiastes 15:18_

When Rebecca was a child, she had been caught in a wave crashing over her father's ship and almost swept overboard. If it had not been for the quick arm of a strong sailor, she would have been lost. She had thought then that there was no more fearful force than that of the storm and water. But as Brian pressed his mouth against hers, he allowed her no cause to doubt that the heart of man harbours greater forces than all the universe. His lips were rough and insistent, and she could not help but receive the kiss, though she did not reciprocate it. His strong arms held her in place, and she was struck with cold fear, because she felt herself being swept away in his desires against her will as she had been all those years ago, caught in the deadly pull of the sea.

With a strength born of panic, she pushed him away and leapt to her feet.

"Don't touch me!" She had never felt so vulnerable, not even in the tower at Torquilstone. Even then, she had known that, whatever happened to her body, her soul would be untouched. But now, her conviction threatened to crumble. She seized on her fears to give her strength, and something inside began to unravel. "The vilest fiend on earth can give a kiss, Sir Templar, and it proves nothing! You speak of love, but what have you shown but an obstinate will to have your selfish desires? You speak of honor, but how can you fear its ruin when it is already nothing but a show? You care for the opinion of others, but you stifle the voice of your own conscience lest it condemn you! Sacrifice - you have bragged enough to strip it of its meaning."

Bois-Guilbert sprung up, a reply on his lips, but she put out her hand to stop it.

"No, Sir Knight! You shall listen, for once!" She stood before him with all the righteous rage and beauty of an ancient goddess of justice. "How can I trust your words, your promises, when you have broken others in the past? You so willingly forsake the rules of your own Order, just to pursue pleasure. I would be a fool to think you would follow the laws of love! And - and what if I gave in? Like Amnon and Tamar, in the end, your hate would be greater than your desire had been. Love! What love? You still hold back - you still fear giving everything and gaining nothing. Sir Templar, until you have given your all, you do not know what love is."

Rebecca caught her breath. The dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions too long suppressed. But her feeling of victory was chilled by the realization of what a dangerous move she had made. In rebuking the Templar, somehow she had bared her own weaknesses. When she resisted Brian, she paradoxically found courage in fear: the strongest reason she could not accept him was her fear that he would not love her, all of her. Even if she gave her entire self to him - and in love, she could not do anything else - she could not trust him to do the same in return.

She could not read Brian's thoughts. For once, the stubborn man was completely silent. He had turned from her to lean against the walls, eyes distant and jaw clenched. Rebecca couldn't help but wonder if he was finally giving up on her as a lost cause - maybe he finally realized that she was nothing like the idealized image of her he'd believed in all this time. At Torquilstone, she had awoken his admiration through her bravery, and he had become obsessed with making her his. But now, she revealed herself to be cowardly, weak, and human, and now he must be disgusted with her. For some reason, she could not feel relief at the prospect.

Her own thoughts were broken when a hand landed on her arm.

"You are right," said Death, baring his rotting teeth in another grin, "You are wise indeed to recognize the hypocrisy of that foolish man's claims…" Before he could say more, Rebecca realized that Brian was not the only one who deserved her anger.

"And you!" She cried, pulling her arm away. "How are _you_ any better than him? I will never trust my soul to you!"

"It's too late, Rebecca; you already have!" His grin widened. "You have thwarted me for years, but you have finally given in, whatever you may say to the contrary. Every moment that passes, you fall more deeply under my control!"

"No, I cannot believe you! There must be another choice. You are not like the simple deaths I have encountered. You are twisted and dark and deceptive. I can feel in my heart that something about you seeks to destroy everything that is beautiful."

Death's smile disappeared. He backed toward the door. "Think what you want," he said in an icy voice, "but it is too late, too late! I leave now, but I will return in three days, and no one can now stop the course of fate."

"You are wrong." The words were quiet, but they brought Death's retreat to a halt. Rebecca started, finding Brian standing beside them once more, his face returned to its characteristic coolness, no sign left of his previous anger or passion.

"I see you haven't given up hope yet," sneered Death. "Don't you realize she has already rejected you? Face the truth, boy - she lives to disappoint your every hope."

"Do not taunt me until you are certain of victory. I will not let you have her."

"How do you plan to achieve that? You have already tried to stop me, but you are _far too weak_." The Templar ignored the insult.

"When you first appeared," he said calmly, looking Death in the face, "you said Rebecca and I are both in danger of death. But for neither of us is death certain."

"That was - before," said Death, hastily, "but my mark is on her, and though she tries to reject me now, she has made an irreversible choice."

"That may be true," replied the other, "or false. Either way, you forget one thing. I have yet to make my choice."

Rebecca stared at him, uncomprehending. Death threw back his head and laughed.

" _Your_ choice? Are you jesting, boy? You are trapped in circumstances beyond your control. Lift one finger to save her, and all your ambitions are for nothing!"

"I can - let ambition go," said Brian, "For something greater."

"Foolish mortal!" Hissed Death. "What can you do? Throw your life away in the lists, but you already know that _she_ will show no gratitude."

"Her happiness will be recompense enough. To purchase her freedom, my life is no great cost."

"Ha! You say that now. I will enjoy seeing your heroic blustering melt away in the face of reality. Really now, will you sacrifice not only your life but also everything that gives life and death meaning? Will you turn aside honour, glory, and reputation, and welcome a ruined name and an unmarked grave? You cannot mean it!"

"I do," said Brian coolly.

"Then prove it!" Brian reflexively caught the object Death hurled toward him, hand closing around cold, sharp steel. Rebecca started at the sudden movement, and at the sight of the dagger in Brian's fist.

"Go ahead, brave warrior," sneered Death, "and finish the deed, if you are really so certain."

"There is no need to do so tonight," said Brian hoarsely.

"But why not? Whether you kill yourself now, or die in the lists, either way the entire world will soon know your shame. What? Are you afraid to face the prospect, now that the dagger is in your hand?"

"I am not afraid!"

"Then why aren't you _doing it, boy?_ Just a quick stab to the heart - it will be much shorter than the years of infamy, the decades passing by in which men tell the tale of the dishonoured knight Bois-Guilbert!"

Rebecca had never seen such a look as then crossed the face of Bois-Guilbert; nor would she see one like it ever after. His gaze fell upon her face, and he clenched the dagger.

"Rebecca-" One word, but all his soul was in it. And finally, she knew. O _ne or the other must die._

And the strong, determined woman who had stood on the precipice at Torquilstone, braved the burning castle, and defended herself before Beaumanoir - was silent. If he carried through with it, she wouldn't have to face death, and she wouldn't have to face _him_. If he chose good over evil, she wouldn't have to. And yet… she didn't want him to die. A treacherous voice in her heart cried out, _No, don't let him do it! Just tell him you love him, tell him you'll go with him. You can both flee!_ She could live her life running from pain and death and decisions, pretending that Brian really did love her, and that she loved him. She would say that she had done it _for_ him, to save him. But she would always know that she had only done it for herself.

She resisted the waves of emotions and clung to this knowledge; it was a truth that hurt, but she grasped it for support. He read the answer in her eyes.

 _The choice, Bois-Guilbert, was never in my hands. It is yours to make._

He shuddered; it cut him more deeply than it had done to her. And so she did not expect his reply.

"Then I will make it, for you."

 _A/N: Sorry it has taken so long to get this out! I've actually had this written for months now, but I didn't want the section to end on this cliffhanger. I just spent three hours of attempted writing, only to produce a paltry paragraph more, so I decided to just post this as it is and update it with the full chapter later on. I just don't have the same good feeling about this chapter, and I feel like my writing is so stiff and clunky. Oh well, I hope you enjoy! I will try my best to get the rest out soon!_


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